“So,” he said, “he is terribly in love with my wife, and he intends to marry you.  That’s—­interesting.  Because, my sweet child, he’s got a damn poor chance of marrying you, or anybody.”

“Lou!”

“Listen,” he said deliberately.  “Men who stick their heads into the lion’s jaws are apt to lose them.  Our young friend Cameron has done that.  I’ll change the figure.  When a man tries to stop a great machine by putting his impudent fingers into the cog wheels, the man’s a fool.  He may lose his hand, or he may lose his life.”

Fortunately for Edith he moved on that speech to the side table, and mixed himself a highball.  It gave her a moment to summon her scattered wits, to decide on a plan of action.  Her early training on the streets, her recent months of deceit, helped her now.  If he had expected any outburst from her it did not come.

“If you mean that he is in danger, I don’t believe it.”

“All right, old girl.  I’ve told you.”

But the whiskey restored his equilibrium again.

“That is,” he added slowly, “I’ve warned you.  You’d better warn him.  He’s doing his best to get into trouble.”

She knew him well, saw the craftiness come back into his eyes, and met it with equal strategy.

“I’ll tell him,” she said, moving toward the door.  “You haven’t scared me for a minute and you won’t scare him.  You and your machine!”

She dared not seem to hurry.

“You’re a boaster,” she said, with the door open.  “You always were.  And you’ll never lay a hand on him.  You’re like all bullies; you’re a coward!”

She was through the doorway by that time, and in terror for fear, having told her so much, he would try to detain her.  She saw the idea come into his face, too, just as she slipped outside.  He made a move toward her.

“I think—­” he began.

She slammed the door and ran down the hallway toward the stairs.  She heard him open the door and come out into the hall, but she was well in advance and running like a deer.

“Edith!” he called.

She stumbled on the second flight of stairs and fell a half-dozen steps, but she picked herself up and ran on.  At the bottom of the lower flight she stopped and listened, but he had gone back.  She heard the slam of his door as he closed it.

But the insistent need of haste drove her on, headlong.  She shot through the lobby, past the staring telephone girl, and into the street, and there settled down into steady running, her elbows close to her sides, trying to remember to breathe slowly and evenly.  She must get home somehow, get the envelope and follow the directions inside.  Her thoughts raced with her.  It was almost eleven o’clock and Willy had been gone for hours.  She tried to pray, but the words did not come.

CHAPTER XXXIX

At something after seven o’clock that night Willy Cameron and Pink Denslow reached that point on the Mayville Road which had been designated by the storekeeper, Cusick.  They left the car there, hidden in a grove, and struck off across country to the west.  Willy Cameron had been thoughtful for some time, and as they climbed a low hill, going with extreme caution, he said: